


Haunted

by dragonshost



Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 06:59:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11549940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonshost/pseuds/dragonshost
Summary: Who he should haunt, post becoming a ghost, was really a no-brainer for Lahar.





	Haunted

Who he should haunt, post becoming a ghost, was really a no-brainer for Lahar.

Because he knew that Mest would be completely and utterly _lost_ without him around.

Lahar hadn't even needed to think about it when he found himself an apparition - unseen and unheard by all (except for one very odd blonde girl that hung around Fairy Tail, but then he suspected she was like him - which led to question of who precisely she was haunting but really he had his incorporeal hands full with Mest so there was no time to do an interrogation). Though oddly - and thankfully - he was able to touch and move things on occasion. Which was an asset when steering Mest away from whatever danger his rampant curiosity had put him in _this time_.

Yes… there had simply been no question about it. The man could rewrite people's brains and entire existences, but he was completely hopeless in so many ways. Like right now. (Honestly, Mest needed to switch to buckles, he had far less trouble with those than shoelaces.)

So now the bespectacled former Rune Knight was staring down at Mest as he burnt - for the fourth time that morning alone - his breakfast. Which normally wouldn't be too much of an issue (though it led to some serious dietary concerns that Lahar _would_ find a way to communicate to him yet, mark his words), except that today the Fairy Tail mage had company. Company almost as judgmental as that shoelace Mest had given up on earlier. A shoelace that had turned out to be a tiny snake, courtesy of said company.

Lahar wasn't sure how he felt about several criminals running pell-mell about Mest's apartment like they were on holiday. Granted, he didn't actually have much of a say in Mest's life right now.

Most of them he could stand. Jellal was as uptight as he was in some respects and Meredy seemed mostly harmless. The same with Richard, and aside from the occasional snarky comment Macbeth and Sawyer were mostly tolerable. At least _they_ knew to wipe their feet on the doormat before coming in (unlike the rest of the heathens).

Sorano and Cobra (Lahar just could not bring himself to call him Erik - it was just too weird), now those two were a problem. Lahar understood why Cobra insisted on calling her a feathered demon - she was brutal, and rude, and she just rubbed everything in Lahar the wrong way. And she shed feathers _everywhere_. An utter nightmare of a human being.

Cobra was even worse though. Not because of all his little bad habits - oh no.

Because Cobra could _hear him_. And liked to take advantage of that.

If it were literally anyone else able to hear him, Lahar might hope to use them to communicate with Mest about his many, many bad habits, but no. He was stuck with Cobra, who found it amusing to worsen Mest's poor choices. Especially where personal grooming was concerned. What was with that shag pile on top of Mest's head…? And the furry coats. Those needed to _go_.

Yes, he had his hands quite full looking after the direct line mage. Literally, as he set the seasoning salt within Mest's _direct line of sight_ where he _couldn't possibly miss it this time._

"Oh, there's the salt!" Mest exclaimed cheerfully.

"You need to organize your spices, this is ridiculous," Lahar lectured, standing at Mest's elbow, a watchful eye on how much of the stuff he was adding to the food. "Also, you need to not over-salt everything you come into contact with, and downing copious amounts of pepper - no matter how often you tell yourself it will - will _not_ cancel out the salt. That is _not_ how it works, _I assure you._ "

It wasn't as if Mest could hear him, but Lahar still found it comforting to lecture despite that. Mest had never really responded to them when Lahar had been alive, so there was really no difference between now and then and Lahar found that it helped him forget, for a moment, that he was dead.

Mest's hand stilled with the salt, and perplexity stole across his face.

_Oh, no._

"I wonder if those flying fish flakes would be a good seasoning…" Mest paused. "I need to know!"

"No, you don't!" Lahar snapped, slapping the bottle out of his hand. "You know you don't like flying fish. No one does. They're inedible. Don't add them to food, much less food you're serving others."

With a groan, Mest bent down to stare at the smelly mess on his floor. "Can't believe I have such butterfingers…"

And that was, by far, the worst thing about haunting Mest.

The fact that the man had zero clue that he was, in fact, even being haunted at all.


End file.
